


Ask Me for the Truth

by yellowflares



Series: Ask Me for the Truth [1]
Category: Best Song Ever - One Direction (Music Video), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexual Male Character, Bottom Harry, Bottom Harry Styles, Character Study, D/s undertones, Feminine Harry, Feminine Harry Styles, Gender Identity, Genderfluid Character, Genderplay, Genderqueer Harry Styles, Harry Styles - Freeform, M/M, Marcel doesn't make an appearance (sorry), Other, POV Zayn Malik, Rimming, Top Zayn Malik, Zayn Malik is Veronica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21561865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowflares/pseuds/yellowflares
Summary: "Anyway,” Harry says, visibly unfurrowing his brow and tugging out his signature smirk, “I doubt I'd have looked as pretty as you.”Zayn thinks again of rough waters- Harry's eyes on his fake tits all day, the days Harry withdraws so far he gets unreachable- and knows he’s not going to take Harry’s bait. Not going to let him pull them off course, this time. Sometimes that’s what Harry needs- the chance to withdraw and sort out his own thoughts- but not right now.“But you want to?” Zayn guesses.Harry freezes.“I-” he never finishes the sentence.“You want to be pretty?” Zayn tries again.*Zayn dresses as a woman for the BSE video. Harry has complicated feelings about it.
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Series: Ask Me for the Truth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595983
Comments: 14
Kudos: 152





	Ask Me for the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because someone mentioned [this](https://peterpansflight.tumblr.com/post/59427339878/harry-could-do-that-but-then-people-would-expect) and I couldn't get it out of my head. It was meant to be just smut, but wound up longer and more tender, so I hope you enjoy it because I had to do _research_ for this. 
> 
> I got most of my info from the bts [doc](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-WuWigVnfFQ), [this](http://www.mtv.com/news/1711114/one-direction-best-song-ever-director-breakdown/) interview with the director, and a healthy dose of Projection.
> 
> PS- If gender stuff is dicey for you, you might want to see the end notes for more info.

Before Ben gives them their character sheets for the video, Zayn naturally assumes he’ll be one of the studio executives. There’s no way he can pull off the “flamboyant energy” and polished dance moves of Leeroy the Choreographer, no-ones going to believe him as Nerdy Marcel with his extensive collection of tattoos- even if half of those tattoos are based on comic books, and he doesn’t even want to touch Veronica the Sexy Secretary, so. It seems obvious.

But when they’re sat down at a round meeting table, both sleazy executive characters are slid in front of Louis and Niall.

“We’re going for unexpected here, remember,” Ben explains to Niall’s quizzical brow, “you lads are the cute ones, so-”

“So you’re going to stick us in ugly prosthetics and turn us into gross old men,” Louis cuts in wryly, even as he reaches across Ben to grab a pack of sweets from the heap of snacks in the centre and pass them to Zayn.

Zayn immediately starts making a pile of the green ones, before handing the rest on to his right, where Harry’s long fingers take the packet from him.

“But why do _we _have to be the ones who spend five hours in make-up?” Niall moans through a mouthful of Doritos.

Ben just moves on without answering, clearly trying not to let this meeting devolve too quickly.

“You’re Leeroy,” he says, passing another piece of paper to Liam, who immediately turns red and starts to splutter.

Zayn stops chewing at his small pile of sweets, suddenly realising which two characters are left.

Harry's been quiet the whole meeting. It’s not totally uncharacteristic for him. Harry is often thoughtful and steady in a way Zayn doesn’t think people on the outside, who only see him burst through with adrenaline and dancing circles around all of them on stage, could imagine. It’s part of why the two of them get along, sometimes even better than the others, at least on the days that Harry hasn’t retreated too far into his thoughts.

But today he's fidgety and _off, _his eyes downturned. He hasn’t actually eaten any sweets, even after Zayn had picked out all the green ones for him, instead flicking them into messy piles according to colour.

“The sexy secretary,” Ben says then, hovering for a moment with the character sheet in his hand, looking strangely hesitant.

Harry immediately looks up, catching Ben’s eye for just a second before looking back down and pretending to be absorbed in his sorting again.

Ben hands the sheet to Zayn.

Zayn’s mind goes blank.

“Erm,” he says, looking down at it.

“What, not afraid of wearing a dress are you?” Louis hoots from across the table.

“No!” Zayn snaps, defensive, because that genuinely wasn’t it. He doesn’t care about all that, really. “It’s just…” he trails off, resisting flicking a glance to his right again.

“What, mate?” Ben asks kindly.

“Well, I’m just not sure I’ll be the best at being all lady-like,” he explains haltingly.

The costuming section of the sheet says he’ll have to wear _heels. _Zayn’s not sure he could get around in them without breaking a leg, let alone be “prim and proper,” like this thing says.

“Yeah, hang on, why not Harry?” Liam asks. “We all know he wouldn’t mind dressing like a girl for the day.”

Harry’s sits up straight at that, and there’s so many expressions happening at once on his face that Zayn can’t quite make out what he thinks of Liam’s comment, but Zayn has to agree that between his doe-eyed features and willingness to get into women’s clothes for a laugh, he does seem the obvious choice.

Harry’s go-to smirk seems drawn just slightly tight around the edges when he asks, “there something wrong with being a girl, Liam?”

Ben jumps in before Liam can stutter out an outraged response, raising his voice to draw their attention.

“It’s not Harry because it’s meant to be unexpected,” he says.

Zayn sees Harry snap his mouth shut at that.

Ben turns to Zayn. “We all know Harry’s…” he trails off for just a second, before gathering himself again so quick Zayn wonders if the others noticed “-willing to do something a little out-there,” he decides.

“But you’re the quiet one. The fans think you’re mysterious, so none of them will see this coming. Plus, you’re a good actor and I think you’ll do a good job.”

Zayn feels himself pink a little at the praise.

“Okay,” he says eventually. “I’ll give it a go.”

Ben slides the last character sheet over to Harry with very little fanfare, the others still absorbed in ribbing him and Liam.

Zayn looks down at his paper again, reading the words “pencil skirt”, and sighs.

Louis and Niall are so lucky. 

*

For all his apprehension, Zayn hadn’t truly considered how much _work _would go in to making his gangly limbs and sharp-cut face look like they belong to a pretty girl.

Even apart from his years being painted unnaturally perfect for the camera, Zayn knows his sisters have never spent this much time doing makeup, even on the days he let Saf and Waliyha painstakingly brush shimmer all over his face. Doniya, at least, is naturally pretty enough that she’s never felt the need to draw _new cheekbones_ onto her face before a night out_. _

When they start airbrushing away all of his tattoos, Zayn has to force himself not to whine like a little kid.

Finally, the wardrobe people strap _padding _to his body in strategic places, creating softness at his hips and chest that he carries uncomfortably while he tried to manoeuvre into the restrictive skirt.

At the end of it all, Zayn doesn’t recognise himself.

He’s tottering towards set in the ridiculous heels, wig getting in his vision so that Liam has to stay at his side to help guide him, and all he feels is _uncomfortable. _He has no idea how he’s going to pull out the performance Ben seemed so sure he had in him.

“I can’t walk like a lady, man!” he calls to Ben, and Liam snickers behind him.

Ben looks about to answer when there’s a loud wolf-whistle from behind him, Louis and Niall coming into view when he rounds the corner. Ben chuckles and lets them have at it.

Director of the year, that one.

“Looking good, mate!” Niall grins, sweeping his eyes exaggeratedly all over Zayn’s body.

Zayn’s seen the move work on birds, Niall so goofy and charming about it that he disarms easily, but he never thought he’d be on the receiving end. He resists rolling his eyes and instead pops a hip to the side, suddenly very determined to play it up.

“Like what you see, then?” He pushes his voice up high and airy, really getting into character.

“Look on the _tits _on you, Z,” Louis says, clearly holding back a laugh.

Niall reaches out to poke one.

Zayn, who does feel begrudgingly more relaxed, laughs and does a shimmy. The stuffed bra jiggles around awkwardly atop his flat chest, rippling the material of his silken shirt. 

When he looks up again, Harry’s eyes are caught on his chest from where he stands just behind Niall and Lou, mouth parted just slightly.

Zayn feels his face go red.

He’s not used to so many eyes on him, at least when he’s off stage- preferring to sink into the background behind Harry’s dimpled charm and Louis’ frenetic energy- but even with all the guys, Ben, and lots of the crew looking at him now, Harry’s attention feels different. Focused instead of teasing. 

Harry seems to come back to himself when Ben’s hand lands on his shoulder, the older man saying something that makes Harry flush and shrug out of his grip, walking quickly to his mark. Zayn watches his awkward, pigeon-toed grace, the way his hips swing easily, and sighs. He would have been so much better at this.

“Okay on those heels, babe?” Harry asks when Zayn takes his place across from him, and Zayn resists a shiver. The endearment feels so different now than when they’re piled into each other’s space on the bus or an interviewer’s couch, all boyish and laddy.

“They fucking kill, mate,” Zayn answers, lifting a knee in the confines of his skirt to show Harry how high the damn things are. “Reckon you’d do much better, even with your clumsy legs.”

Harry takes a breath at that, his eyes searching.

“Yeah? Wanna see me in a pair of stilettos, then?”

Zayn thinks he might have lost the course of this conversation.

“Already have mate.” He says, trying to keep his voice light. “I remember El’s party. She got you in those boots.”

They’d been thigh high. Harry had kept them on long after the bit was over, sauntering around in his skin-tight jeans and nearly-unbuttoned shirt until _everyone_ had been looking at him, and Zayn had found himself wanting to scream for reasons he still can’t really articulate to himself. He hadn’t, of course, because he’s not a dick.

He’s trying not to be one now, either, but there’s something going on with Harry that he’s not sure he can navigate safely without careening them both into the rocks. He considers how Harry sometimes pulls so far into himself he turns almost stranger, looking quiet and sad, and thinks these might be choppier waters than he’s used to.

“Just keep your weight forward on your hips,” Harry says, touching lightly at his side like he’s not quite sure if he’s allowed, even though they’ve been tactile with each other for years- spent hours upon hours half-drunk and cuddled up after the others have gone to bed, talking in hushed voices and breathing each other’s air.

When Ben calls action on the shot, Harry pulls him in by the hand and gets so close that Zayn’s fake boobs press to his chest, and that’s new. Harry’s palm pressed to his back, pulling their bellies so flush that Zayn feels the warmth under the hot lights- that’s new too. They’ve always been close, but this is something else- something meant to look charged and electric. Zayn’s body feels not quite his own, trussed up and padded like this, but Harry’s hands are probing anyway.

When the cameras stop rolling, Harry backs away immediately, looking sheepish.

Zayn feels like he should say something, but he doesn’t have time to parse through his thoughts before Ben’s calling them away to the next shot.

He’s sweaty and uncomfortable the whole day, but he keeps catching Harry’s eyes on him, and he feels like there’s something sliding into place in the back of his mind- between Harry sliding his hands curiously over Zayn’s newly created curves and the way he’d grumbled the first time they had to get stage makeup done, before eventually sinking into a spaced out, pliant calm.

Zayn remembers Ben’s careful looks during yesterday’s meeting, and wonders if he’s missed something big.

*

Zayn’s one of the last people left on set. It’s taken the wardrobe girls hours to get his padding unstrapped and the wig unpinned from his head, and his whole scalp is tingling with the phantom weight of the thing.

Eventually, he tells the girls to go home, firmly letting them know that he’s _perfectly capable _of using some baby wipes to clean the makeup off his face and body. In all honestly, he’s a bit sick of being prodded at.

Zayn breathes a sigh of relief when his tattoos start coming back into view, already feeling more himself. He’ll have to get a lot of it in the shower, but this will do for now.

He’s got a mostly clean face, a pile of dirty wipes in front of him, and is working himself up to taking on the eye makeup- he’s irrationally worried he’s going to get all of it in his eyes and blind himself- when Harry finds him.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the doorjamb. He’s still in his outfit from the shoot. He looks irritatingly composed next to Zayn’s pin-frizzed hair and half-on makeup, the comfy sweats he’d pulled on as soon as he was allowed out of the skirt. 

Zayn can hear a few people milling around, some crew packing up and resetting for tomorrow, but they’re mostly alone.

“Hey babe,” Zayn says quietly. He’s exhausted, and anyway, he never has to be anything but quiet with Harry. “What are you still doing here?”

“I was helping some of the crew clean up,” Harry replies.

_Course he was, _Zayn thinks.

“I thought I would stick around and see if you wanted to share a ride back.”

“Okay. Just let me finish up and get my clothes on,” Zayn says, surprisingly grateful. Usually he’d rather be alone after a long day, but Harry’s Harry, and he’s been off all day, and Zayn finds he wants him near.

When he turns back to the mirror, Harry has come up behind him, peeking over his shoulder. He touches Zayn’s back.

“Do you want me to get the rest of this?” Harry asks, motioning to where Zayn has no doubt left smudges of foundation over the tattoo at the base of his neck.

“Sure,” Zayn says, passing the pack of wipes behind him.

Harry is quiet as he works, and when he looks up, he looks at Zayn for a long moment. He doesn’t pass the packet back.

“You look really pretty in that makeup,” Harry says.

“Thanks,” Zayn snorts. “Much better than my sisters ever managed on me.”

“Your sisters do your makeup?”

Zayn’s a little thrown by the way Harry phrases it. It was never really _his _makeup, they just kind of used him like a convenient, human-shaped canvas, before eventually growing out of the experimentation.

“They used to practice on me, yeah.” Zayn replies, finally turning to face Harry head on. He’s twisting his fingers together in front of his chest, fiddling with the dirty makeup wipe and the half-empty packet. Zayn takes them from him and deposits them behind him.

“I wish I’d had that,” Harry breathes. His brow is furrowed, like he’s confused. Or maybe surprised that he’s said that aloud.

“Gemma didn’t force you to play model for her?” Zayn asks, going for light. But Harry considers the question as if it were serious.

“She wasn’t really… into all of that, when we were kids,” he says finally.

“Anyway,” Harry says, visibly unfurrowing his brow and tugging out his signature smirk, “I doubt I'd have looked as pretty as you.”

Zayn thinks again of rough waters and knows he’s not going to take Harry’s bait. Not going to let him pull them off course, this time. Sometimes that’s what Harry needs- the chance to withdraw and sort out his own thoughts- but not right now.

“But you want to?” Zayn guesses.

Harry freezes.

“I-” he never finishes the sentence.

“You want to be pretty?” Zayn tries again.

_More than you already are, anyway, _Zayn thinks, eyeing his full lips and big green eyes.

Harry’s always kind of been ‘the cute one’ in the band in a way Zayn never really got to be, but this moment feels bigger than wanting to be seen as attractive. More complicated than jealousy over the spotlight.

“Harry,” Zayn says when Harry doesn’t answer, instead playing with his necklace and looking at his feet. “Do you- I mean. Do you want me to do your makeup?”

Harry looks back up at him. His eyes are so, so wide. 

“There’s almost no one here anymore,” Zayn continues, desperately scanning Harry’s face to see if he’s made the right call, “and I reckon I picked up enough from the girls to do an okay job. If you want."

“Okay,” Harry says eventually. “If you- I mean, if it’s not-”

Harry stops himself again, this time taking a breath.

Zayn forgets, sometimes, how many eyes are on this boy, how young he really is- the youngest of all of them. He seems to thrive under the pressure in ways Zayn doesn’t, but he's always wondered how much of himself he tucks away to sustain that, knows Harry doesn't tell even him everything. Zayn remembers the first time Harry had confessed that he’d spent the night with some boy. That it was something he did, had been doing, just like with the girls. _‘Don’t tell the lads yet.’ _Harry had said then, curled up on Zayn’s hotel bed and smoking his weed. _‘I’m still too scared.’_

“Yes,” Harry says now. “Please.”

He sounds firm, this time. Zayn thinks he’s brave.

He directs Harry to sit on the floor in front of a full-length mirror, thinking it might be easier if they can set across from each other on even ground, and turns to dig out one of the makeup cases that’s been stashed here overnight, giving himself a moment to collect himself. When he turns back, Harry seems to have settled into whatever they’re doing here, gazing at him patiently with his big eyes.

Zayn spreads some products out in front of him.

“What kind of look should we go for? Something glittery? Colourful?” Zayn thinks Harry would look lovely with a bold colour around his eyes. Something to play against the green.

“What if you did something like what you’ve got on now?” Harry asks, motioning to Zayn’s eyes. He’d completely forgotten about it.

“You don’t want to go all out while we’ve got this whole box?”

“No. I want to look, y’know, like a real girl. Like how you looked today.”

Zayn doesn’t know how to respond to that, to Harry wanting to look like a girl_, asking_ for it, outside of the context of a joke or a party or a music video, so instead he works on poking around for some brown and cream coloured palettes.

He’s not really sure whether his makeup skills are up to the task, but he likes to think of himself as an artist, and he reckons he wouldn’t be much of one if he backed away from a challenge like this. Not to mention what it would say about him as a friend if he left Harry hanging now, after missing whatever this is for so long.

Zayn turns to study Harry’s face. He looks determined, excited, terrified. Zayn’s always a little in awe of how much Harry’s big features can hold at once, and sometimes a little jealous of how fucking _intriguing _it makes him- how people get pulled in by his kindness and easy charm but then _stay, _stuck in his orbit.

Harry’s not taken off the powdery layer of foundation meant to smooth his complexion for the cameras, which is good. Zayn thinks getting the right foundation might have been the hardest part, and picking the wrong shade could break all of this, turn it kind of clownish.

Instead he goes for a blush, picking up something peach-toned that he reckons will sit nicely on Harry’s pale skin.

“Ready?” he asks, waving it at Harry, who nods.

Zayn sweeps two fingers through the colour and starts circling it onto the apples of Harry’s cheeks, sweeping up and out over his cheekbones.

“Aren’t you supposed to use a brush?” Harry asks, trying hard not to move his face when he talks in a way that looks really ridiculous. Zayn smiles.

“Oh, look who’s the expert now. I’ll leave you to it then, shall I?” Zayn jibes good naturedly.

In truth, Harry might be right. Zayn’s just doing what he’s seen his sisters do. He smudges the colour gently before pulling back to search for a brush that looks promising and sweeping up over the line of Harry’s face to smooth it all out.

Harry turns to look at the mirror when he’s done, and when he grins, the rosy flush above his dimples heightens the pretty, cherubic effect of it all.

“Stop looking at it before I’m finished,” Zayn grumbles, turning away again to give himself a moment.

“Sorry,” Harry says, not sounding very sorry. _Typical. _

By the time Zayn’s got eyeshadow and some smudgy eyeliner on him- managing to get it all relatively even and not once poking Harry in the eye, something he’s inordinately proud of- Harry’s gone quiet and pliable, watching Zayn with doe eyes made even bigger and more defined by the shadows Zayn’s blended around them, the subtle sweep of purple he’d brushed over his lids in a sudden moment of inspiration, wanting the green to stand out. _I am an artist, _Zayn thinks, almost smug.

“Okay,” Zayn says, waving a little tube of mascara, “try not to flinch or I really might get this one in your eye.”

Harry nods seriously.

The effect is immediate. Harry blinks at him slowly, his already-long lashes lengthened and impossibly dark, sweeping against the top of his cheekbones. Zayn has to take a breath. He’s prettier than a good portion of the girls Zayn’s slept with, he thinks.

Zayn reaches out to touch. He can almost pretend to himself that it’s just professional observation when his fingertips rest lightly on the side of Harry’s jaw, but then his eyes drop to his big mouth, his pretty, parted lips.

They’re sitting so close now that Zayn’s knees rest atop Harry’s.

“What about a lippy?” Zayn asks quietly, drawing his finger almost to Harry’s mouth but not touching.

“Yes, please,” Harry breathes. He looks like he’d agree to anything right now.

Zayn picks up a dark mauve lipstick, thinking it will pair well with the brush of purple on Harry’s eyes. Harry’s breath is sweet in the air between them when Zayn finally touches his lips, just as soft as they’d looked.

“I’m done.”

Zayn doesn’t know quite where to look- Harry’s eyes defined by dark shadows, the length of his cheekbones painted subtly pink with just a slight shimmer, his full lips dark and bruised-looking- all of it pulls his eye. The effect of the whole thing is… really something.

“Is it okay?” Harry asks, suddenly seeming small and nervous again.

“Of course, mate. I’m an artist,” Zayn says, setting the lipstick aside and nudging Harry around to face himself in the mirror. He stays just behind Harry’s shoulder, hooking a chin there to watch him take it all in.

Harry lifts a hand to his face, but stops just short of touching.

“Wow,” he says, sounding awed. Then he smiles, huge, his whole face breaking open like a flower.

“I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, babe,” Zayn replies.

He puts his hands on Harry’s shoulders, hoping it's grounding. Then he braces himself and prays he still has a handle on all of this.

“Should we talk about it?”

Harry drops his hand. He looks away from Zayn in the mirror and down at his lap, poking at a hole in one of his socks, but he doesn’t shake his head. He doesn’t say no.

“Ben didn’t make you the girl for the video,” Zayn starts.

“No.”

“Why?”

“It wouldn’t have surprised anyone, like he said,” Harry says to his feet. Zayn’s about to tell him off for deflecting when Harry continues. “I don’t think it would have meant the same thing as it does when it’s you. Me dressing in girl clothes.”

Zayn chews on that for a moment.

“And Ben… he knows that?” he guesses. Harry’s always been closer to Ben and his wife than the rest of them.

Harry nods. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t tell Zayn what it _does _mean, for him to be made up like this, but Zayn thinks he might be figuring it out anyhow.

Harry puts a hand over one of Zayn’s and leans into him, smiling a bit cheekily, apparently back to trying to lighten this whole thing. He motions to their matching eye makeup.

“Look at us. We look like gay girlfriends.”

Zayn snorts. They do, a bit. Both long-lashed and pretty in this moment, with short hair and tattoos like the lesbian mate Doniya used to have back home.

“Why do I have to be a girl?” Zayn jokes.

Harry smirks.

“I mean, you looked hot as one, but you don’t, necessarily.”

Zayn catches a tiny bit of emphasis on the ‘you’.

“But you do?”

Harry’s face shutters, and he drops his hand from Zayn’s. Zayn doesn’t let go of his shoulders, instead tightening his grip. He waits Harry out.

Eventually, Harry meets his eyes in the mirror. His gaze is steady.

“Only sometimes.”

_So brave, _Zayn thinks again.

Zayn slides his hands down to Harry’s waist and uses his grip to tug him around, pulling them face to face again. He puts a hand on Harry’s neck lightly. He’s fucking terrified, but he wants to be brave too.

“Today when we were shooting, and I was dressed as her” Zayn starts, rubbing his thumb over Harry’s pulse, soothing himself as much as Harry, “did you want me? Or were you jealous that I got to do it?”

Harry’s brows pull together, but he doesn’t tug away.

He doesn’t look surprised that Zayn’s asking.

“Both? It’s all jumbled. You looked so good.” He touches Zayn’s hand again. Zayn’s never noticed how delicately Harry moves his long fingers. “But. I still want you now, you know.”

Zayn groans, feeling whatever tentative hold on control he had break entirely.

He tugs at Harry, pulling him clumsily into his lap, guiding his long legs to either side of his hips.

“Come here, come here,” Zayn finds himself saying desperately, sliding a hand into his curls and pulling their foreheads together.

“You’re so beautiful, Harry.”

Harry gasps, his long, darkened lashes fluttering closed. He drapes his arms around Zayn’s shoulders, trembling slightly in his hold.

Harry is the one to press their lips together, in the end.

His big, wide mouth parts around Zayn’s gently and pulls at his lower lip. He so soft. Warm in every single place they touch. Zayn can feel the tackiness of the lipstick between them. He gets his mouth open, trying to tongue it off Harry’s lips, and Harry whines a little, high and light like his sweetest falsetto. Zayn immediately wants to hear it again.

Zayn slides his hand up from Harry’s hip to his chest, grabbing at his chest and squeezing the way he would if he had a girl in his lap. Harry arches into it, breaking away from Zayn’s mouth with a gasp. There’s lipstick all around his mouth. Zayn’s sure it’s all over him, too. _God. _

“Can I?” Zayn’s not really sure what he’s asking for, but it doesn’t matter, because Harry’s already nodding.

“Please, yeah- please,” he begs, squirming deliciously on top of Zayn.

Zayn gets his hands at Harry’s shirt, undoing the bottom few buttons and silently thanking Harry's usually infuriating aversion to a properly done-up shirt when it slides open after just a moment, exposing his long torso and the softness at his hips. He tugs it off Harry’s shoulders and then gets his hands back on him, using both to palm at his chest this time. When Zayn rubs his thumbs over both nipples experimentally, Harry’s breath breaks on a whine, his hips twitching.

“Can I suck on your tits?” Zayn asks, and Harry nods frantically, so he does.

He wraps his lips around a nipple, tonguing in quick circles, then pulls back with the lightest scrape of teeth. Harry makes that noise again. Zayn breathes in shakily, moving a bit lower to suck a mark between Harry’s puffy nipple and one of the smaller, extra ones that adorns his belly.

“Zayn,” Harry murmurs, eyes gone glassy.

“Yeah, baby?” Zayn asks, the endearment falling out of his mouth naturally with Harry coming apart so prettily on top of him like this. “That feel okay?”

Harry hums, so Zayn bites him, sinking his teeth in near his other nipple. Harry moans.

“Please,” he says, trying to catch Zayn’s hands and slide them down to his arse, “please, touch me.”

Zayn does as asked and grabs a firm handful in each palm, using both to drag Harry in roughly until they’re flush from chest to stomach. He groans when he feels their cocks rub together through the rough of Harry’s denim and his own soft sweatpants, but then Harry arches his back, drawing away from the friction but pushing himself further into Zayn’s hands.

He pushes one hand inside Harry’s waistband, shoving his way in to get at Harry’s soft skin even as Harry frantically undoes the button and zip of his jeans, giving him more room. When he presses a finger to Harry’s hole, he feels the boy in his arms give a full body shiver.

Zayn’s done this before- had girls who were into it, and Zayn only too happy to oblige- so it’s not new, but the way Harry _reacts _is. No-one’s ever pushed their arse back into him, halfway to falling apart from the first touch, writhing like they’re trying to get him inside them completely dry.

“Am I wet?” Harry pants, and Zayn’s brain nearly shuts down.

_Oh. _

“N-no,” Zayn stutters, trying desperately to keep a handle on this whole situation. “Not yet, babe.”

Then he gets an idea.

“We’ll fix that though, baby,” he says, nudging Harry’s pliant body off his lap and laying him out flat. His whole chest feels tight at how easily Harry goes where he's directed, malleable and trusting. Zayn starts to tug off Harry’s jeans, taking his pants with them. “Get you dripping, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees breathily.

He lets Zayn push his legs open easily, looking spaced out and utterly unashamed about being on display, his cock leaking steadily against his belly. Zayn runs his hands up his plump thighs, marvelling at how soft the fine hairs are.

“Gonna eat you out, okay?” Zayn says.

Harry whimpers, throwing a hand over his face, probably smudging his makeup.

“Oh, God.”

“Hey,” Zayn says, lightly smacking one of his thighs. Harry shivers, and Zayn feels his stomach drop. “Don’t mess up your face after all my hard work.”

Harry immediately removes his hand, looking down at Zayn and biting his lip.

Zayn hesitates, but Harry looks so open, and Zayn wants to keep him this way forever. Wants to give Harry what he needs, even if that means taking a risk right now.

“Good girl,” he says, carefully.

Harry’s face crumples, a sound somewhere between a whine and a sob breaking free of his throat. It’s so beautiful Zayn has to swallow and lean down to press his face into Harry’s belly, crushing a messy kiss to his butterfly tattoo.

When he’s collected himself, Zayn lies down and tugs Harry’s thighs apart to make room, leaving one flung over his shoulder so that he can use it to keep him open.

The noises Harry lets out when Zayn finally gets his mouth on him are transcendent, better than the best song they've ever written together. Zayn licks over him in broad, messy stripes, getting him sloppy like he knows he wants right now, until its dripping down the cleft of Harry's bum and all over Zayn's face. Then he points his tongue and works his way _inside. _It's sweaty and sweet and raw on his tastebuds, and he can't quite believe he's doing this. Can't believe he's _n__ever _done this.

Within minutes, Harry’s a writhing mess, his thighs twitching and his hips circling with Zayn’s tongue, chasing the feeling. He opens up so easily, enough that Zayn can slide a finger in alongside his tongue with ease.

“Taste good, baby,” Zayn says when he pulls away for air, leaving a bite on Harry’s inner thigh. Everything about Harry right now makes him want to sink his teeth in. He crooks his finger, probing but still gentle since they don’t have any lube.

Harry moans at that, tugging desperately at Zayn’s hair, trying to get him back where he needs him. Zayn shushes him, gentling his palms up Harry’s hips, and gets back to it.

When he starts to inch his free hand towards Harry’s cock, intending to pull him off that way, Harry catches him before he can, lacing their fingers together and sliding his leg off Zayn's shoulder.

“Will you fuck me?” he asks, like it’s that simple. Like this is something they do all the time, and not something earth shattering in more ways than one.

Zayn tamps down on the groan in his chest and nods weakly.

“Okay. I can do that. Do you have-”

“Yeah, in my wallet,” he says, nodding to where he’s left his bag in a corner next to his boots.

“Okay,” Zayn says again, considering.

When he stands, he pulls Harry up with him, ignoring his look of confusion and tugging him close. Harry's hands land on his waist, broad but so delicate.

“Go stand over there,” Zayn breathes against his mouth, tilting his head at the makeup counter set against a wall of face-height mirrors. Almost all the lipstick is gone now, with the way Harry’s been biting his own lips. It's almost a shame.

“Yes,” Harry agrees, eyes on Zayn’s mouth. Zayn pulls him in for a quick peck before he moves to rummage for a condom and a packet of lube. He detours to quickly and roughly get rid of the last of his mascara, sure its an absolute mess by now, after his stint between Harry's thighs.

When he comes back, Harry’s draped himself over the counter with his elbows holding his weight, back arched obscenely and the small swell of his arse on display. Zayn moves into position behind him quickly and runs a hand up his side to the base of his throat, pulling him up gently so that he has to face himself in the mirror.

“Want you to look at yourself, yeah? See how pretty you are.”

Harry nods silently, breath caught and eyes huge. Zayn squeezes his fingers, just enough to have him choke on his breath and start panting again, before pulling back.

He’s wet and loose enough from earlier that it’s easy to press two fingers into him now that he has some lube, and so hot inside that Zayn feels dizzy. Harry lets out a long, low groan when Zayn starts to stretch him properly, eyes slipping closed.

“Keep them open, love,” Zayn murmurs, already working in a third.

Harry hums and meets his eyes in the mirror, dimple popping cheekily. “Sorry babes.”

Zayn bites his shoulder in retaliation, crooking his fingers at the same time. Harry lets out a wail.

“Wow,” Zayn says. “Found your G-spot then.”

He curves his fingers away from that spot for now, going back to long, stretching strokes.

Harry doesn’t answer, looking glazed and far away again as he pants heavily, watching them through the mirror. His eyes are caught on the hand Zayn has steadying his waist, gripping into the softness there.

Zayn pulls back and gets the condom open, pulling his pants down far enough to get his cock out properly. He’s been so focused on Harry that he hasn’t really thought about his own arousal for ages, but he’s so hard that even just rolling the condom down his length has him hissing.

“Ready?”

Harry nods quickly. “Please. Fuck me.”

Zayn is so fucking taken with the way Harry begs, how unashamed he is about asking for what he wants. Zayn wants to give him everything.

He lines up, pushing in steadily to the sound of both their groans, harmonising almost better than they do on stage. Harry’s so hot and so tight, he wants to stay inside him forever. When Zayn’s pressed in all the way, his thighs pressed to the sweet, round swell of Harry’s arse, he settles both hands on the narrowest part of his waist and presses firmly, giving them both a moment to adjust.

When he gives a first, stuttering thrust, Harry moans quietly, his head drooping between his shoulders and resting on his arms.

“Feel good?”

“God, yeah,” he breathes.

“Good. You feel so good, baby,” Zayn says, gripping Harry tighter around his middle and starting to _move, _pulling him back on his cock as he does, building quickly into a punishing rhythm. Harry just takes it, lets Zayn hold him so tight he thinks- _hopes- _he might bruise. “So tight on me, like you were made for this.”

Harry moans, rolling his hips back into Zayn’s grip, torso sinking until he's lying nearly flat on the narrow counter.

Zayn reaches for Harry’s cock, but Harry shakes his head, turning to look at him over his shoulder.

“No, no, please. I wanna-” he sounds so frantic that Zayn rushes to calm him, smoothing his palms down his sides.

“Okay, okay, baby. I won’t. You wanna come just from my cock, then? Be my good girl?”

Harry lets out a noise like a sob, nodding desperately into his arm, eyes squeezed shut.

Zayn focuses on finding that spot inside of Harry again, and as soon as he’s got it- Harry’s wail going high pitched and punched out sounding again- he slides a hand messily into Harry’s curls, using the grip to pull him up again, dragging his head back to expose the line of his throat.

Harry’s eyes snap open on a sharp gasp, and he meets his own eyes in the mirror with an expression that looks almost like shock. His cheeks are even more flushed than when Zayn first put the blush on him, a few stray tears have smudged his eyeliner and mascara under his eyes, and his curls are a sort of dishevelled halo. He’s _gorgeous. _

“Come on, baby, look at yourself. You’re so pretty. Prettiest girl I’ve ever had.”

Zayn’s babbling now, not really caring what comes out of his mouth as long as it keeps making Harry sob, keeps making him look all broken apart like this- beautiful and desperate with his own pleasure.

He’s getting close though, and he kind of needs this to end before he embarrasses himself, absolutely desperate to tear an orgasm out of Harry first.

“Come on. Need you to come, love,” he says, feeling seconds away from begging himself.

He winds a hand around Harry’s chest, tweaking at a nipple and then squeezing at Harry's soft, flat tits.

One deep thrust later, Harry finally comes.

His whole face crumples with the force of it, come spurting onto his own belly as he cries out loud and long, mouth is parted so beautifully that Zayn wishes wildly that he could have painted it.

Zayn has only a moment to hope they really are the last ones here before the body clenching around him in hot pulses has him tumbling right over the edge too. He spills into the condom in a few last, jerky thrusts, groaning low and grabbing far too hard at Harry's ribs.

Harry sags in his arms, and Zayn leans down to press his forehead to the centre of his back while they catch their breath. They're both shuddering lightly, and Harry seems unsteady on his feet. After a moment he smudges a kiss to Harry’s skin and pulls out carefully, wincing at Harry’s soft whimper.

He ties off the condom, pulls his sweats back up, and moves to find something to clean up with, since Harry doesn’t look inclined to move just yet. He returns with an extra t-shirt from Harry’s bag, deciding that maybe whatever just happened will cancel out the whole 'ruining his clothes' thing when Harry figures it out. He’s gentle when he wipes down Harry’s thighs and belly, and Harry hums contentedly, finally turning around on shaky legs.

Zayn brushes a wayward curl off Harry’s forehead, watching him carefully. Harry’s taller than him now, when he’s not bent over or crawling into Zayn’s lap, but he still holds himself like he’s trying to be smaller than he is.

Zayn’s mind is still running a mile a minute, trying to figure out if he took any wrong steps, but Harry looks at ease, smiling warmly at Zayn before stepping closer and dropping his forehead to Zayn’s with a soft sigh. Zayn feels a smile take over his own face as he wraps Harry up in his arms, breathing a sigh of relief and stretching to press a kiss against his temple.

When Zayn leaves Harry to dress himself, stepping out into the rest of the darkened set to make sure the coast is clear and they really are alone- they are, thank God- he returns to find Harry with his jeans back on and a clean t-shirt (that looks like it might be Liam's, actually) pulled over his head, carefully removing his smudged makeup.

He finds himself strangely disappointed, but he gets why it’s necessary. They still have to get back to the hotel, and there’s the possibility of paps and fans between them and the privacy they'll need to have the talk Zayn knows they have to have.

Besides, he thinks if any pap got a shot of Harry like this, vulnerable and new, or made any kind of comment, Zayn- and Louis too, probably- might have to fight them, and that definitely wouldn’t be good for the band’s reputation. 

He comes up behind Harry and hooks a chin on his shoulder to watch, just like before, when Harry was seeing his made-up face for the first time. Harry doesn't look quite so happy, this time around.

“Y’okay, babe?”

“I’m okay,” Harry confirms. He takes a breath. “Thank you, Zayn. For-”

“No.” Zayn interrupts. “Don’t- don’t thank me. Not for that, okay?”

Harry nods quietly, and then turns to face Zayn head on. He presses a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

“Then thank you for doing my makeup for me. That was really nice of you.”

“You’re welcome. Lets go back, okay? I need a nap.”

“Am I invited?” Harry smiles, one dimple popping out playfully.

“Always,” Zayn says, taking Harry’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: In this fic, one character doesn't switch pronouns for another even after it becomes clear theres some gender stuff happening- mostly because I can't see him doing that here before they have any kind of discussion about it. There's no intentional 'misgendering' per se, but it's something to keep in mind.
> 
>   
Anyway,, I love Zayn Malik and he was very hot as Veronica!!!  
Come see me at tumblr: @harrysyellowflares


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